


Navigation Without Stars

by Port



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's not pareidolia, Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange 2007, Troll-hunting, casefile, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-02
Updated: 2007-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port/pseuds/Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean go troll hunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Navigation Without Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Sincere thanks to ignipes for beta-ing!
> 
> For iamstealthyone, in the 2007 Supernatural Summergen fic exchange.

"So," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Still think it's pareidolia?"

Sam grimaced. They stood over a lump of stone that came up to their waists, deformed so as to appear humanoid. Like a misshapen child, caught in mid-step, just looking over its own rounded, over-muscular shoulder. Its expression, where the swell of stone hadn't erased fine detail, was of innocent surprise, the mouth open in the shape of an oval.

"It could still be a natural rock formation…" Sam said, mainly to wind Dean up. The moment he saw it in person, Sam had abandoned the possibility the stone bore a coincidental resemblance to anything humanoid, as the newspaper had suggested and Sam had hoped. Dean gave him that open-faced look of supreme knowing, and Sam shrugged, giving up the pretense. They circled the statue slowly, examining its features.

"Looks like it was out for a walk when the sun caught it," Sam said. He touched it, felt along the cold, bulky chest. Hard to tell if it had been wearing clothes. Apparently, when a troll turned to stone, it looked less like a Michelangelo sculpture and more like a Vesuvius victim. "Hey, you don't suppose…?"

"What? That there's still something under there?" Dean tapped the frozen face with two knuckles. "Nah. Dad's journal mentions some hunter in Norway, broke a whole bunch of these things in two to make sure. No gooey insides. Nothing but stone."

For some reason, that was a relief. Sam stepped back and looked at the statue in context, imagined a little troll walking along the forest path, swinging its arms in the twilight. The pines in this part of the woods stood close together, their upper branches forming a canopy that blocked most of the sky. This early in the day, only dappled light made it to the ground. The troll must have thought it would be all right. Or it had been too young to know better.

"It looks like a kid, Dean."

"It's short."

"No," Sam said, drawing out the word. "Something about it, it's childlike."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, sucked in the corner of his lip and studied the statue for a few seconds. He looked at Sam. "I don't see it. You want me to stand back while you finish making notes for your art review? Because I'm a little more interested in finding the rest of these bad boys."

Sam narrowed his eyes, but there wasn't much he could say to that. If it made Dean feel better not to acknowledge that their dead troll was a dead troll _kid_ , Sam wouldn't say anything more. In fact, he was kind of sorry he'd mentioned it in the first place.

He let Dean get a few steps ahead, then easily caught up. Dean had gone grimly quiet, looking inward more than at their surroundings. The slender trail wasn't too bad, and it was too light out for more trolls to be under foot. However, Sam had never been comfortable with Dean's moods, which originated in a place Sam could never quite see, like thunderheads appearing in the distance. "I'm just saying, if a young troll is that big, what's an adult going to look like?"

Dean swatted at the gnats that had been buzzing around their faces all morning. The dim light almost made the humidity a visible thing, casting the air in gray-green hues, dust and pollen swirling lazily. Dean already had a few bites on his neck, but Sam didn't feel like commenting; Dean would start bitching and never stop. He didn't even feel them now, or else he'd be scratching and complaining. But tell him they were there, and suddenly Dean would be overcome by the itch.

Sam scratched absently at his own neck as Dean took out the little pad of paper with their case notes written in it. "Seven-ten to eight feet tall, very broad shoulders, long arms, gray complexion, hunched-over posture, shoulder-length, blond-brown hair, and pointy teeth." Dean grinned absently, possibly amused by the words "pointy teeth."

As a description given by two seven-year-old boys who'd never met and whose families had been "roughing it" in separate campgrounds, it measured up. Maybe not to the police, but to people who knew, it was more than compelling.

Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sounds kind of…dangerous."

Dean chuffed out a laugh, making Sam think of a pebble thrown into a still pond. "You think?"

"Maybe," Sam said. "Seems weird that both kids got away from it without getting hurt."

"Maybe it wasn't trying to hurt them."

Sam glanced down the trail behind them, but the little stone troll was no longer visible. Impossible to tell how long it had been there. Hikers came this way only infrequently, and who knew how many had passed the statue before someone decided to snap a few pictures and submit them to a newspaper. The attempted kidnappings, with both children and an adult witness describing similar monsters, had drawn Sam's attention to the area, but Dean had been the one to notice the standalone art on the front page of the local newspaper a few days later, the rock that looked kind of human.

Impossible to know which had come first, the young troll getting caught in the sun or another troll trying to steal someone else's kids. Sam knew where he'd put his money, though.

They reached the mouth of the cave network by nine, with the sun halfway to its zenith. The trail had only taken them partway here, and Dean had navigated the rest of the way using a map they'd gotten for free at the visitor center outside of town. Sam had forgotten Dean could do that, navigate without a road, but now he recalled a number of instances where it had been Sam, Dean and Dad in the desert or the swamp or the mountains with only a topographical map to lead them in and out. A time before GPS and cell phones. They'd done pretty well for themselves back then.

"Hey, you remember that time in Florida?" Sam asked as the slate-colored ridge came into view through the trees.

"With the alligator?" Dean asked. He kept his eyes on their surroundings, more alert the closer they came, no matter it was daylight.

"No, in the swamp. Chasing that thing, we never figured out what it was. You know."

"Oh, yeah, that." He turned an interested look on Sam. "You know what it was?"

"No clue," Sam said. "It went down hard enough."

"Yeah, big sucker. Almost took Dad with it. What makes you think of that now?"

"Hm? Oh, the map. I was thinking of times we had to use one like that." Now, though, he was thinking of the hours spent sloshing through knee-deep swamp water and mud, holding Dad up between the two of them, Dean thin-lipped and referring to the map now and then, the sky growing darker all the way back to civilization. Dean had led them all the way back without once getting lost. Sam wondered if he'd taken that for granted at the time and decided he probably had.

They took a short rest after finding the cave entrance, tucked into the base of the ridge and obscured on two sides by brush and weeds. The ground in front of it, though, was compacted, with a few impressions that might have been footprints, leading into the interior.

"If this is a bear cave, I'm gonna be in a bad mood," Dean said, taking a seat on a rock ledge. He sighed and stretched out his legs. Sam shrugged. He'd warned Dean that sneakers or hiking boots might be a better idea, but Dean insisted his work boots were more broken in than his other shoes.

"You're in a bad mood already," Sam said, and saw Dean startled for the first time in the three months since Sam had left Stanford. The funny, frozen look on his face passed almost as quickly as it appeared, and Dean turned indignant and perplexed.

"Am not."

Sam tossed him an apple from the food he'd packed and took one out for himself. "Moody, then." He was. Sam couldn't pin him down all day.

"Dude, stop projecting your PMS onto me. Now where's that cheese you packed?"

They ate apples and cheese and trail mix, washed it down with soda and prepared to enter the caves. These were mentioned in the local tour books, but not as an attraction. Too distant from town, too deep in difficult woods, too difficult to map. Sam doubted anyone knew of the trolls likely living within, but he wondered if they were a distantly remembered deterrent. He hadn't had time to research the area's folklore.

Sam and Dean both carried steel daggers, sheathes strapped to their thighs. Steel was key here, so Sam secured a few other knives to his person, as did Dean. It would be best, however, if they finished the job fast using the daggers. Sam noticed Dean tucking a stun gun into his pocket and supposed that was unavoidable.

"Still stuck on the mighty Thor?"

Dean looked up, wearing an eager expression. "Totally worth a shot. Those stories say Thor electrocuted trolls using Mjolnir."

"Was that before or after he joined the Avengers?"

Dean waved dismissively and rechecked his dagger sheath. "If it works, we'll have a new way to hunt trolls. You ready?"

Sam finished rechecking his weapons. He peered into the chasm, but could only see as far as the sun reached, and that wasn't far.

"You gonna be all right in there?" Dean had managed to sidle right up to him without Sam noticing. Maybe he'd been too intent on the cave.

"Course I am," Sam said. He frowned. "Remember the wendigo's lair?" It had been tight and dark, with only one exit, but he'd made it just fine. Sam turned his frown right on Dean. If he wanted to make an issue of this now….

But Dean only clapped him on the shoulder, face serious. "Yeah, I remember it." He nodded once and climbed into the mouth of the cave. "Come on."

If he remembered it, why did he say anything in the first place?

Sam pushed back his frustration and followed his brother, who handed him a flashlight. They rounded a corner, and the sun was just a memory now, like the statue they'd also left behind. It was tomblike, in contrast to the breezy fresh air outside. Smelled vaguely of sulfur and ozone, with an earthy undercurrent. Sam had a sense of disturbing an abandoned building where the windows had been shut for too long, startling into motion air that had long gone still.

Inside the corridor, it was easy to walk right into a wall or rock outcropping if you didn't aim your flashlight where you were going. The darkness pressed against their flashlight beams, giving them a small range of vision, forcing them to walk slowly, careful not to miss anything. Instead of providing an echo, the stone walls seemed to absorb the sound of their breathing and footsteps. "This one's gonna be a bitch," Dean whispered. "Can't hear a thing."

Sam nodded, even though Dean wouldn't see. He didn't walk too closely behind, mindful of the close quarters. Soon, though, the corridor widened into a cavern. Their flashlights revealed only slices of it at a time, but the ceiling was higher and the walls provided more than enough space for them to walk side by side. Not getting a sense that they had company, Sam aimed his beam at a wall and came closer to inspect what he found there.

"Dean, look."

Dean swept his light in a circle, double-checking they were alone, then approached Sam. "Looks like your old finger-paintings," Dean said in all seriousness. Sam ignored him.

"It's pretty abstract. But it's our first evidence something's been here."

"You mean besides Junior?"

"We still haven't been sure Junior—" and there he went, calling the statue by the stupid name Dean had just chosen "—lived in this cave system, Dean."

"Dude, you called it Junior." The corners of Dean's lips twitched up. Sam rolled his eyes and shone his flashlight somewhere else. "And where do you think it lived? Trolls live in caves, Sam. You know of any other caves in this area?"

"Trolls also eat human flesh. By that logic, there should be hundreds of missing people in this county. But these caves are too far away from civilization to allow that kind of hunting in the first place. Never mind that trolls are from Scandinavia."

"Hey, if folks brought over the vanir, why not trolls? But I give you the human flesh thing. It's weird."

Sam traced a finger across the drawing on the rough wall. His skin came away with charcoal on it. On the floor nearby, he found a couple of burned wooden stubs, the remains of crude pencils. Right above that, at knee height, another drawing, this one more distinctive. Three scribbled blobs, with long appendages, two about the same size, with a third smaller one standing between them. A crescent-curved line, ends pointed up, adorned the top portion of each blob, like a giant smile.

"I think there were three of them. Probably two now."

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder at the picture, grunted his agreement. "Let's go meet Ma and Pa, then."

The cavern widened toward the end, where they found two passageways and a lot of scuffmarks. To leave a groove in the stone floor took a lot of walking. The main path led from the left-hand corridor to the opening on the right, which was smaller and smelled worse. Sam nudged Dean toward it. "Your turn."

Dean gave him a look, shadows making his face sharp in the limited light. "Wussy," he said, then held his nose and stepped into the crevice. Sam shone his flashlight in after him and kept his ears open. He drew his dagger and held it at his side, waiting. Dean stepped out a few seconds later, leading with his own dagger. "It's clear. Looks like a garbage dump. There's a big hole with animal bones at the bottom."

"Animal bones. No humans?"

Dean shook his head. "Far as I could tell. What do you want to bet they figured out nobody'd bother them if they left humans alone, changed their diet?"

"Trolls are supposedly very smart. Human-level intelligence."

Some of the sources on trolls even linked them to the fae, attributing to them similar behavior. For instance, the practice of exchanging their own children for human ones. Sam shared a look with Dean. "Come on," Dean said. "Let's get this over with."

The corridor had a high ceiling and a smooth-worn floor. Between that and Dean's description of the bone-room ("lots of bones"), Sam estimated the trolls had lived here for a number of years. Nice place to raise a family, he thought, trying not to remember the miles of unyielding rock surrounding them, with the exit a good half-mile away. On the bright side, it did look pretty solid. No signs of instability, no reason to worry about a wall or ceiling falling on them, like in a mine.

"Hey!" Dean whispered. "Don't get distracted!"

How in the world Dean could tell he'd been distracted, Sam would never know. Possibly his breathing had changed. But as Dean turned back around to face the corridor ahead of them and as Sam opened his mouth with a comeback, he felt a soft air current, and something streaked across the flashlight's beam. Sam got a glimpse of a pale arm, easily three times as thick as his own, sweeping up toward Dean's head.

"Look out!"

Sam tried to push Dean, but the creature reached him first. Dean must have seen it coming too; he had time to lean away from the blow. It caught him on the jaw, openhanded, following through to hurl Dean headfirst against the wall.

Sam heard a _crack_.

He shouldered forward, jabbing where the troll had been, but it had the advantage of night vision and eluded Sam's dagger and flashlight beam. The blade was nine inches long; he needed close proximity to use it, and all he could hear was his own harsh breathing.

Sam backed up to where Dean lay and crouched, making himself a smaller target. If he sprang up when the creature came back around, he might get under those arms long enough to drive the steel into its stomach or chest. He held onto the flashlight and didn't switch it off. It gave away his position, but Sam needed to _see_ the thing before he could attack it, and just maybe the glare put the troll at a disadvantage.

After a minute, Sam noticed the sound of Dean's breath from the floor behind him. He wanted to turn around and check on him, but stayed still instead. It was still here.

A few more minutes passed. Sam's legs began to cramp; soon he'd have to change strategies, but with Dean unconscious, Sam had a short list to choose from.

  
  
He unclenched his hand around the dagger handle. The darkness had begun to swirl as his adrenaline levels dropped, pushing in and pulling back hypnotically.  
  
"Uuuuaaaa."  
  
"Dean?" Sam kept his eyes on the corridor. "Dean, you awake?"  
  
Dean moaned again, pitifully and loud. He sounded close to tears. Sam almost dropped his guard. Almost.  
  
"I think you have a concussion," he whispered. "But the troll's still around here somewhere. Do you understand me?"  
  
Behind him, Dean moved, making little sounds of pain. He didn't acknowledge Sam.  
  
And that was bad. How long had Dean been unconscious? More than a few minutes. He didn't seem to be aware of his environment. Probably going into shock. Worst-case scenario, he had a major brain injury.  
  
Sam stood up, shook away the pins and needles in his legs and ventured forward. A few yards ahead was a big outcropping that blocked the rest of the corridor. It would be a good place for the troll to fall back to.  
  
"Come out!" he yelled.  
  
The troll didn't oblige, but Sam caught a grunt from that direction.  
  
He crept closer, readjusting his grip on the flashlight in his left hand so it could double as a blunt weapon.  
  
The thing got him even though Sam was more than ready for an attack. It blindsided him, springing out of a hidden nook across from the outcropping, and knocked the wind out of him. Before Sam could recover, it pinned him face-down against the wall. Sam pushed back against it, but he couldn't get any leverage, and the thing pressed even harder on his back, crushing him against the craggy wall. Sam flipped his dagger to point downward and slashed toward the creature's thighs, but it grabbed his right hand and smashed it into the stone until Sam dropped the dagger. His flashlight was long gone.  
  
Dean moaned, and Sam began to tremble. He felt the thing behind him rumble, maybe a laugh, maybe a growl.  
  
It breathed across the top of his head, and then it spoke.  
  
Not English, though. Sam tried to place it, but he'd only ever heard Scandinavian accents, not the languages themselves. The troll paused, and when all Sam did was stay silent, it spoke again and stepped away from him, keeping its grip on Sam's right wrist. Before he could reach for one of his knives, Sam was dragged to Dean's side.  
  
Dean had gone quiet. In the light of a fallen flashlight, Sam took as good a look at him as he could. Blood matted Dean's cropped hair, and he'd curled into a ball, protecting his stomach. Probably nauseated. Or disoriented and scared. A concussion did funny things, even to Sam's big brother. When the troll knelt down and nudged Dean, Sam tried to pull away. "Don't touch him!"  
  
The troll squeezed Sam's arm, twisting almost to the point of breaking. Sam came down hard on his knees, trying to ease the pressure. He couldn't do anything but yell when the troll again reached for Dean. This time, it pushed Dean up, reached around his waist and hefted him onto its shoulder.  
  
Dean groaned, but Sam stayed absolutely still. This was not good.  
  
It got worse. The troll stood up, Dean hanging down its back, and started walking. It pulled Sam along, past the outcropping Sam had warily approached before, hoping for a quick kill. Sam still had two knives on him, but he hesitated to try anything with Dean hoisted over the thing's shoulder and his own wrist held the way it was. One sharp twist, and Sam would be at a permanent disadvantage, and who knew what would happen to Dean in the moments to follow.  
  
They rounded the corner, and from there it was a dark oblivion. Sam tried his best not to hit the walls, but found it impossible not to trip or bang up against out-jutting rocks. The troll never slowed down. Sam's sleeves tore, and the knees of his jeans. His skin, too, and often.  
  
After some distance, the corridor began to slope downward. The troll had no trouble dodging whatever was in their way, and after a few particularly painful collisions, Sam walked closer to it, free hand on its waist so he could keep up. That did make it easier, and the troll didn't react. Sam tried to be patient, even when he heard Dean knocking against the troll's back, grunting every once in a while.  
  
They traveled for some time, then Sam spotted a warm-colored light flickering up ahead. It was the first point of reference he'd seen since leaving their flashlights behind. He hoped it signaled a stop. Already they'd traveled too far for an easy escape, but too much farther and Sam might be too worn out to effect an escape in the first place.  
  
Dean muttered miserably against the troll's back. Sam tried to angle himself closer to him, but the troll jerked him away. Its grip compressed the bones in his right forearm too tightly not to cause damage, but the first back-up knife was ready in Sam's left sleeve. He'd take the first opportunity the bastard gave him.  
  
They walked to a cavern where a fire burned steadily in a pit surrounded by flat stones. The smoke trickled up to a blackened ceiling oily with soot and made the air visible in dirty little wisps. Along the far wall were three large piles of animal furs, laid out like pallets. In one corner, dry wood sat in a heap. Supplies were all over the place: pots and pans, long, wooden spoons, a knife set in pristine condition, a wash basin filled with wooden plates, bowls and cups that all appeared to be finely carved. Sam hadn't realized a troll could achieve that level of skill.  
  
The troll finally dropped Sam's wrist when they entered the cavern. He fell down, panting, pretty sure the wrist was fractured. The next moment, though, Sam stood back up, painfully, prepared to catch Dean if the troll let him fall. Dean hung limply over the troll's shoulder, arms swinging slightly.  
  
In the firelight, Sam got his first good look at the troll.  
  
It had the same misshapen features as the statue, but with more detail in the flesh than in the stone. A broad back, muscles standing out like lumps. Arms like a Neanderthal, hanging heavily past the waist. It wore an animal-skin loincloth, which Sam had noticed with relief while hanging onto its waist and trying to keep up. The biggest damn feet Sam had ever seen, black and hard-looking, and pale skin and long, colorless hair. When it noticed Sam's study, it turned to look at him with black eyes set close together on a face like a melted clay bust. It grinned at him, displaying sharp, pointed teeth.  
  
Sam lowered his gaze. _Keep its guard down_.  
  
Instead of letting go of Dean, the troll rumbled out a yell in the language it had spoken before. Silence followed, then across the room, the third pallet moved. Sam hadn't noticed anyone sleeping there, only a very large pile of furs, but a voice drifted out, faint and feminine. He couldn't understand what it said, but at first it seemed not to be the same language the troll used; it was gentle and throaty where the troll's was guttural and fast.  
  
The troll answered and waited as a figure rolled out of the pallet. Just as Sam suspected, it was another troll. A female. As in the stories, she was more attractive than the male, with a face that somehow arranged her troll-like features into something pretty. She was of a size with her counterpart, but better proportioned somehow, the odd musculature complementing her figure. She wore a nightgown that had once been fine, now rumpled and grey from too much use. If Sam had to venture a guess, he'd say she was an adult the same age as the male.  
  
And she was staring at him. He met her eyes, noted red rims surrounding them, her stark lack of expression.  
  
The troll holding Dean let out a whoop and began to talk very fast. It jostled Dean, turning around to show off the body sagging upside down across its back. Sam's jaw began to hurt from clenching it. Next, the troll pointed at Sam.  
  
The female tried to interrupt, but the male talked over her, repeating the same phrases fast and often. Its voice rose with a determined note, and it refused to break eye contact with the female. Sam edged nearer to his brother, afraid he would fall any second. Across the room, the female troll began to weep, and the male yelled. Sam froze, then leaped when the troll really did drop Dean.  
  
He managed to get a hold of Dean's shoulders and saved him from landing on his head, wrenching his own injured wrist in the process. Carefully, Sam eased Dean to the floor before closing his eyes against the pain, letting the sound of the trolls' foreign cadences roll over him. It hurt, and Dean was out of it, and they had to be more than a mile underground. He had two knives, but only one good hand, and now there were _two_ trolls.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
Sam opened his eyes. "Shh, Dean. Be quiet."  
  
Dean lifted one hand toward his head, but it was uncoordinated, wavering around instead of going straight where he seemed to want it. Sam brushed his left palm across Dean's forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt there. "Sam, what're you fightin' ‘bout now?"  
  
Sam sighed. It figured Dean would hear raised voices and think of Sam and Dad going at it. "We're not fighting, Dean. Everything's all right. But you have to be quiet, okay?"  
  
"Sam?" He sounded more alert now, his eyes starting to clear. "Where are we? Wha's goin' on?"  
  
Sam leaned closer and hissed, "We're in the middle of a hunt. You need to shut up until I tell you it's okay."  
  
Dean's eyes widened, and Sam noticed one pupil was larger than the other. Dean nodded, and even that slight movement looked painful, if the green expression that followed was anything to go by. Sam stayed crouched over Dean, though the trolls seemed to have forgotten them both.  
  
The male had stalked over to the female, puffing out its chest and talking in a rush of hard consonants. The female shook her head at him, then her finger. She wiped tears from her face, but kept crying.  
  
Finally, the male threw up its hands and strode away. He went into a niche carved near the water basin and came out carrying a giant iron pot. It was the size of an industrial air conditioner, more of a cauldron than a pot. Had to weigh a ton. The troll carried it easily and set it down over the fire, resting it on the flat rocks surrounding the pit.  
  
The female, meanwhile, crawled back into bed. She pulled the furs around her shoulders and watched the male add branches to the fire.  
  
Sam had no idea what the fight was for, but he understood dinner preparations well enough. He undid the catch holding the knife up under his left sleeve, thoughts focusing into a cool zone. As soon as he stabbed the male, the female would likely go after him or Dean. Pulling the knife out of the troll's chest would take too much effort left-handed. He'd have to reach for the second knife sheathed against his right ankle. Would there be—  
  
"Sam," Dean whispered. Sam felt a tug on his elbow and turned to look down on Dean. He followed his gaze to the stun gun at Dean's midriff. Yeah. That might do the trick.  
  
Sam looked up when the male troll spoke. So too did the female troll. She stood, keeping one of the large furs wrapped around her shoulders, and walked shakily to the male, who reached out an oversized hand with surprising gentleness to brush its fingers against her neck. Sam reacted to the intimate gesture more than the female did; he opened his mouth a little and squirmed. He preferred his monsters evil and unromantic, but with his brother injured on the floor beside him and the cauldron heating on the fire, Sam knew he could still kill this couple. He knew it with a certainty that chilled him.  
  
The male spoke to the female in low tones for a few minutes. He looked into her face, but her gaze sank listlessly to their feet. Despite himself, Sam studied their features for resemblance to the young troll. They looked alike in the way that trolls generally shared the same features, but Sam couldn't see more than that. The transformation into stone took away too much.  
  
The last thing Sam wanted was for both of them to approach him and Dean, but they did. The male led the female with a light hand on her arm, and yes, she was bigger up close, with the same bulky muscles and a good foot on Sam's own height. Sam sat in a tense crouch, ready to jump up and fight, but neither made a move toward him or his brother. They stood a few feet away, the male murmuring to the female, who finally looked up from the floor and got her first good look at Sam and Dean.  
  
Sam met her eyes. She quickly looked from him to Dean, who squinted up at the ceiling, too sick to realize he was the object of the troll's scrutiny. Dean had one hand curled into a fist around the fabric of Sam's outer shirt. He clenched it, whole body going taut, and closed his eyes.  
  
The female continued to observe Dean as she murmured to the male. She had a soft voice. Sam backed even closer to his brother. Both trolls were eyeing Dean, and Sam couldn't take them both at once, but he would if they made him.  
  
The male answered the female, who nodded and stepped past Sam, toward to Dean.  
  
Sam rocketed up, knife already in his left hand—and was stopped. The male reached out one long arm, reversed Sam's momentum and threw him to the ground, immediately advancing to kick him in the side. It got in one blow before Sam rolled backward, struggling to rise, but the troll pressed its advantage, kicked Sam in the thigh and plucked the knife out of his fingers.  
  
It laughed. Sam looked up to see it standing over him, then folded back in on himself, clutching his middle, leg distended as he tried to ride out the pain from both hits. He gasped and listened for sounds from Dean, but none came.  
  
The male gave him a few minutes to recover before leaning down and grasping Sam's shoulder. Sam struggled past the pain as the troll pulled him to his feet.  
  
"Dean?" He turned and saw the female kneeling over Dean's prone form. "Get awa—ow!" The male pushed him again, and Sam had no choice but to stumble away.  
  
It led him to the cauldron, where it pointed down to where the cooking supplies were gathered. Sam caught sight of the knife set, gleaming orange in the firelight, but the troll muttered something, leaned down and picked up a wooden bucket, which it thrust into Sam's hand. "What the—" Sam turned it over. He looked up into the face of the troll, who stared down at him with those closely set eyes.  
  
"What do you want from us?" he asked.  
  
The troll took hold of his arm and walked Sam to a wall opening he hadn't noticed. It led to a dark grotto where the _drip_ - _drip_ of a water source echoed loudly. The troll prodded Sam into the grotto and stepped in after him. It pointed from the bucket, to the darkness, and finally to the other room.  
  
"You want me to fill up the pot with water." Sam laughed without humor. "Great."  
  
Trolls were known to keep men prisoner over long periods of time, supposedly as servants. In the folklore, the men eventually were set free—but not before they'd gone insane. More commonly, trolls preferred to eat human flesh. And this one here didn't seem the type to go to the trouble of cooking a vegetarian soup.  
  
Sam did it almost casually. He glanced down at the bucket and brought up his left hand from his pocket to the troll's chest. The stun gun activated with a sharp buzzing sound, louder than it should have been. It seemed Dean had souped it up, somehow managing to increase the voltage.  
  
Good.  
  
After three long bursts, the troll fell down, in spasms. Sam followed it to the ground, where he held the gun to the troll's throat and employed the current one last time.  
  
He had to turn away from the stench, bending his head between his knees. A sensation of weightlessness overcame him. Water trickled in the dark, and the fire burned under an empty pot not too far away. The room rolled over and around, and he felt all the impacts he'd suffered today. He fought them back. He bent his injured wrist just to feel the pain, to snap him out of the fatigue, to wake him into the person who had to go to the next room and kill a grieving mother.  
  
Unsure of how long the battery would last on the gun, Sam unhooked his last knife and held it in his left hand. He stuck the gun in the left pocket of his jeans, ignoring the heat it radiated, and approached the opening to the room where he'd left Dean with the female. The flicker of firelight greeted him, the scent of burning wood relieving the reek of cooked flesh that followed him out. Over the pit, the cauldron's bottom glowed orange. Sam scanned the room without entering it, looking to the side where he'd left Dean sprawled on the floor.  
  
"Dean? Oh, shit." He entered the room without thinking, searching for any sign of his brother. The area of rough floor where he'd left him was bare, the female gone too. Sam spun around, seeing visions of endlessly tracking them both through the maze of corridors—or worse, of finding Dean's remains the same way the female might happen upon her mate's.  
  
Breathing hard, Sam stopped and realized the female hadn't left. He turned slowly to look at the pallets, and found her staring at him.  
  
She was crouched over the middle pallet, frozen almost as still as the stone youth in the forest far away, looking over her shoulder in a gesture that finally spoke of family resemblance. Sam followed her arm down to the makeshift bed, piled with furs. He caught sight of pale skin, though not as sun-deprived as the troll's.  
  
Sam exhaled.  
  
The troll's lip quivered, eyes focused on Sam's knife. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Sam watched from across the room as she stroked Dean's face, making no move to protect herself. When Sam stepped forward, she cringed, hunching over Dean. Sam quickly stepped back. Dean might still be alive under there, and he didn't want to startle her into hurting him.  
  
Sam stood there forever. At first, he strained to see if Dean was still breathing, but he couldn't for all the furs heaped over him. Dean, for once in his life, didn't move or speak, and Sam found himself poking the tip of his knife through his jeans in a nervous effort not to approach and make sure. After too long a time, the troll moved a cup of water over Dean's face and helped him lift his head.  
  
Dean drank. Sam closed his eyes and thanked God.  
  
The troll continued to care for Dean, but her movements grew sluggish, less motivated. She cried whenever she ran her hands through Dean's hair, and refused to look at Sam. At the end of an hour, she lifted her head from beside Dean's and sniffed the air. Sam had already noticed the burnt-cooked smell from the other room. There was nothing he could do about it, though. He was ninety percent sure it wouldn't move her to hurt Dean, but he stood on the balls of his feet, ready for her to try.  
  
Instead, the she stood abruptly and lurched out of the cavern. Sam kept out of her path, and as soon as she left, he rushed to the middle pallet.  
  
Dean didn't wake up that night. Sam was in no shape to carry or drag him through the winding tunnels to a darkened forest, so he let him sleep. He should hunt down the troll, but Sam was in no shape for that, either. Instead, he kept watch, huddled next to Dean amid piles of animal furs that smelled of troll sweat. He monitored Dean's vital signs, elevated his feet and made sure he drank water from the trolls' wooden cup. The fire burned down eventually, casting dramatic shadows the lower it went. Sam fed it back to health and hurried back to Dean's side, keeping himself between the door and his brother.  
  
The troll didn't return. Sam heard the long echoes of her wails all night, reverberating through the caves. He replaced his lost knives with the sharpest ones from the trolls' set and tried not to think of fighting the female left-handed. He knew it wouldn't come to that, though. This last troll, she'd have killed them both by now if she had it in her.  
  
Dean regained consciousness at five in the morning, by Sam's watch. It would have been funny, Dean waking up so early, but Sam only felt sick with relief. He dipped a cloth into a container of water and wiped it across Dean's forehead.  
  
"You remember your name?"  
  
"Course I do. I'm Sam and you're Dean." Dean grinned lazily up at him, like he was the slyest dog in the yard. Sam gently nudged his shoulder. That had been Dean's answer to the question ever since his first concussion, way back in their childhoods. It always annoyed Dad and made Sam laugh. Used to, anyway. "Did we get it?"  
  
"Depends. Do you remember what it was?"  
  
Dean groaned. "Come on, cut me some slack here. Must've been a tough son of a bitch…. Where are we anyway?"  
  
Sam pressed his lips together; the concussion was going to be problematic.  
  
Dean closed his eyes. "Okay, okay. You made it all right, though, right Sammy?"  
  
Sam glanced toward the water grotto, where the male troll's corpse had begun to decompose. Through the opposite wall was the way they'd take once Dean was strong enough to walk. The female troll had stopped wailing an hour ago, or maybe she'd wandered out of range, alone and monstrous in the dark. For all he knew, she was lost in the maze of caverns.  
  
Sam shook his head. "I wish you'd been here. This is all kinds of screwed up."  
  
Dean chuckled, careful not to move his head. "And you think I could have helped with that? You really have been gone too long."  
  
Sam stayed silent.  
  
"Hey," Dean said, hand landing on Sam's knee. "Hey, sometimes all it can be is screwed to hell and damn messy. We made it, that's the important thing."  
  
Sam kept that in mind during the tedious journey back to the surface. They started at noon, allowing Dean to get more rest, and would have stayed longer except for the lack of food. He helped Dean walk, using a homemade torch to see where they were going, and navigated uphill, chasing traces of fresh air the closer they got to the main entrance. They got lost most of the way, losing hours they couldn't afford to waste. Dean didn't complain, though, and that made it easier for Sam every time they had to double back from a dead end.  
  
"Just don't call it that," Dean joked, hobbling as best he could, one arm braced over Sam's shoulders. Dean's limited mobility, however, didn't make it easier for Sam, neither physically nor in terms of peace of mind. As soon as they reached town, Dean was getting an MRI.  
  
Leaving the enclosed space and breathing in the green richness of the forest was anticlimactic, they were so worn out. It was dark by then. Sam found the backpack full of supplies that he'd hidden and was relieved to see that no animals had stolen the remaining food. Apparently even wild animals knew to stay away from a troll cave.  
  
Saving the hike back to town for tomorrow, they camped out nearby. Sam kept watch, but the troll woman didn't appear at all. He hadn't sensed her near them underground either. Perhaps she had returned to what they had left of her home.  
  
He hoped not. They hadn't left much.  
  
He got his answer the next morning, when they passed the remains of the young troll that had so innocently started all this. In the dappled sunlight, she stood at her son's back, hands on his shoulders, his face turned casually into the stone folds of her nightgown.  
  
Dean looked from the statues to Sam, but he didn't say anything. Sam nudged him to keep him from stopping. He wanted to get the hell out of these woods.  
  
"Next time," Sam told Dean, "you get to be in charge."  
  
  
End.


End file.
